Joker Drabbles - Kuroshitsuji Works
by the-angel-of-iwashi
Summary: A collection of Drabbles, Prompts, and Musings from my Joker roleplay blog, cryingclxwn on Tumblr. Hope you enjoy! Re-uploaded because someone told me there were streams of HTML in the original. Thank you to the one that told me! It has been fixed.
1. Last Sights

_"Don't cry so shamefully. Crying won't change a thing. The world is not kind to anyone."_

 _"Smile..."_

 _The Earl turned, and then snapped, "My name is Ciel Phantomhive. And that alone."_

As the ringleader lay there, head on his arms, he slowly felt life slipping away from himself. Of course, there was nothing for him to do. Everything he'd done was all for naught. And what he remembered before his head had plopped down was seeing Black- no, _Sebastian_ , starring at him with eyes turning from burgundy to pink, and slit. A demon. He'd let a demon into the circus. If that wasn't the stupidest thing, he didn't know what topped it.

Of course, he still hoped that everyone else had lived. But those eyes had gave him the cold truth... they didn't. They were dead, just like he was soon going to be.

 _Dammit..._  
And then the darkness enveloped him.


	2. Show of the Century

This was it. The moment that changed everything.  
People backstage jostled about, getting ready at the last minuet. Joker watched it all, his face alight with a genuine smile. They were going to pull it off, after all that planning!  
"Alright everyone, th' show's gonna start soon!" he called out cheerfully.  
"Where's my hat?"  
"Anyone seen my knives?!"  
"I need that real quick!"  
Voices layered upon other voices, adding to the chaos backstage. He chuckled to himself, and went to finish his own preparations.  
Soon, the stands were filled, people eagerly leaning forward to get a view of the center ring. And from the dankness of the performer's entryway, Joker ran out, and soon, a spotlight was upon him.  
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Welcome to the opening night of the Noah's Ark Circus! And now, without further adieu, let the show of the century begiiiin!"


	3. A Twitch

"Now, hold still. I've given you some laudanum to make you sleep. This shouldn't take long."  
Edmund leaned back on the table, the drug already taking effect on his system. "... 'kay..." In a short time, he'd soon have another arm. Thusforth, he blanked out into the drug-induced sleep.  
In reality, it took about an hour. The arm itself was difficult to make, and then there was the connecting it to the body in order to make it fully functional. A skeleton arm was definitely a weird one, but the soon-to-be-ringmaster thought it was going to enhance his appearance.  
When he opened his eyes, he felt an odd tingling sensation on his right side.  
"Flex your fingers," came the command.  
And with a twitch, he found that they moved.


	4. Run

_Tmp. Tmp. Tmp. Tmp._  
 _Patpatpatpatpatpatpat._  
Oi! Get back 'ere!"  
 _Run. Run. Keep running. Don't stop. Don't **ever** stop._  
A single loose brown sleeve flew behind a fifteen year old boy, his other arm holding onto a supply of bread he'd stolen. His breath was short, but the sharp shouts of the person whom he's stolen it from kept his adrenaline up; his only fuel for this great escapade. As he ran, he saw the flashback, as they were called-  
 _"Brother, I 'eard there twas a new bakery down on th' corner, not far from 'ere. Can ye get us some food?"_  
 _"'Course I can! Or, at least, I'll try."_  
He'd promised the smaller child, who was forced to hop around on one leg, and couldn't do it himself. Edmund, then, had no other choice but to try and fulfill the lad's wishes, even if it meant desperately trying to feed the lives of six other starving souls back with him. But he had to do it. They were the closest thing he had for a family, after all.  
"You! Stop, you damn lad!"  
 _I can still loose him._  
He flipped down and alleyway, breath almost fully out. However, the worst fears had come true- someone had heard the other's screams for him to stop, and upon his sharp angled turn, whacked him across the chest with a walking stick. Edmund felt the pain reverberate in his chest, and a small spurt of blood came from his mouth as he was tossed back onto the cold cobblestones, coughing and sputtering.  
The stolen man had caught up to him by now, and promptly stole the bread back, giving the boy a sharp kick across the face whilst doing so, only causing him more pain upon that.  
And then they left. One man with a cane, and the other with his bread. And faintly, all you could hear, as a last desperate plea for help...  
 _"Tom... 'e was a p-piper's son... 'e learned ta p-play when... 'e-e was young..."_


	5. Angels and Rain

Pilp. Plip. Plip.  
There was the ever telling sounds of a drizzle from outside, not thick enough to come down in sheets, and yet at the same time not gentle enough to be a sprinkle. The normally hot day had been trampled underfoot firstly by the people who were forced to endure it, adding to the musty air surrounding the crowded streets of London the smell of sweat and manure from horse drawn carriages. After being left for dead by the people, it was then killed by an everyday killer- rain.  
It came quickly and efficiently, and, like the fabled serial killers of old, did its prey in with extensive motion and carefulness. It dampened the normally foul-smelling air and cooled down the punctuating heat, relieving the ones not affected by it to cool off, which children would take advantage here of to play in.  
Rain was an efficient killer, a decisive killer, a constant killer. And yet, somehow, it killed almost like it was ordered by God himself to do so. It was truly a wonder of nature once put into a perspective such as this.  
However, not everyone was enjoying the rain. There were the poor people in the slums of the city to worry about, such as the two we are currently focusing on. A young girl, aged ten in years, and her sister, aged five in years. Both were huddled against a damp, moldy brick wall, not shielded from the rain at all. You see, they had been forced to run out of their house once more, due to a family issue between their mother's father and their father's brother, both of which did not get along very well.  
Large hazel eyes blinked up at the older of the two, almost sleepily, as it was nearing the evening. "Big Sister, when can e go home?"  
The other looked down into the pleading orbs of a shimmering hue, sighing as she shook her head, wet hair cascading in waves across her shoulders. "Perhaps in another half hour or so. We've only been here for less than an hour."  
"You should've packed an umbrella." The younger said sternly, eyebrows heading downwards on her face.  
"I didn't exactly know it was going to rain today." The Girl responded, folding her arms across her chest. "Besides, it's not like either one of us wants to go back quite yet anyways." Her sister burrowed down, hugging her knees to her chest.  
"Yea... I guess you're right."  
It was then that they heard the faint musical sound of a pipe.  
Looking up from where she had buried herself, the smaller sister's face widened into a smile. "Big sister! Do you hear that?"  
There was blinking from the grey eyes of the older child, who finally then rose from her own crouched position, her sibling following. "Yea... It's one of those nursery rhymes, I guess."  
"Tom the Piper's Son!" The five year old giggled, grabbing her sister's hand. "It's in my nursery book!"  
"Ye have a good ear, lass!"  
With a jolt around, in front of the two sisters was now an impeccably tall man, wearing a loud, eccentric outfit, and carrying a pipe, which he promptly slipped into his pocket.  
"Not many people know tha' tune." He went on, kneeling to their height. Extending an arm to shield them from the wet killer of days with an umbrella, he smiled and continued, "And before ye ask, that twas me ye heard playin' tha' pipe."  
"You're very good, sir." The older sibling approached the sentence with a hint of caution. Perhaps he was molester of sorts, dressing up this way as to earn their trust, only to... Gods, she didn't even want to think about that.  
With a small bow, he once more smiled and spoke. "Thank ye kindly, mi'lady. 'Owever, I haven't even introduced meself. Th' name's Joker."  
"What a funny name." the ten year old spoke again, then coughed. "Nice to meet you, Sir Joker. I'm Amelia Rathorne, and this is Johanna Rathorne, my sister."  
"Pleased ta meet ye!" Johanna said brightly, imitating his accent. This caused a chuckle to escape from the man's chest.  
"Now, what brings ye two lovely ladies out 'ere on a day like this? Shouldn't ye be at home?" Smile dropping slightly, out of pure sympathy, the question continued, "Or can it be that ya 'ave no home ta get to?"  
"We have a home." Amelia spoke the sentence shortly, hoping to get this man out of their sights fast. "It's a long story that's-"  
"Our uncle and grandpappy can never get along." The smaller of the two girls interrupted. "They're always fighting when the family comes and visits from the country, and it gets so violent that mummy and daddy either put us in our rooms until everything calms down or if we run outside. I guess you can tell which option we took this time."  
"Indeed I can. Yer both soaked to th' bone!" He tsked out of playfulness. "Next time pack a coat 'er summat, 'kay?"  
"I'll try to remind her!" Johanna smiled up at him, whilst Amelia had her back toward the man.  
As her younger sibling went on about what was happening around the house and home, the older child brooded over this mysterious man, this 'Joker'. What kind of a name was that, anyways? A circus man? A theatrical performer? Some sort of criminal nickname? She hadn't heard any rumors of a killer or any disappearances around town as of late, but you could never be sure, especially in somewhere was foolhardy and dangerous as London.  
"I don't think yer sister likes me very much, miz Johanna." Joker's eyebrows upturned, and he sighed. "Well, I ain't exactly th' most trustworthy lookin' man, ain't I?"  
"No, you are not." She glared at him across her shoulder. "I would suggest you take your leave, mister 'Joker', if that's even your real name."  
With a slight shrug, he stood once more, like he had been. "Fair enough. I knew ye wouldn't trust me." And strangely, he snapped the fingers of his once prosthetic hand, and with a gradual slowness, the rain began to falter, the killer becoming caught in the daylight once again, until it stopped all together. Approaching the girls and putting a hand on the shoulder of the oldest one, he pointed to the sky.  
"Now, look up there."  
And so she did. And with a gasp, her eyes couldn't look at the man she didn't trust anymore.  
Above in the sky was a glorious shimmering rainbow. Almost like the kind you would get after a thunderstorm, but brighter and more vibrant than either of the children had ever seen. It was almost if the colors were alive and dancing in the rain scented air, sparkling and radiant.  
"I've heard tha' if ye see a rainbow after a rain, yer life'll get better some'ow." He went on, smiling slightly. His hand then slipped off, and he backed away. "So, I hope ye two get what ye want."  
They didn't even answer as he spoke, as they were too transfixed, it was... Beautiful. The most beautiful thing they had ever seen.  
And meanwhile, the former ringmaster sprouted a pair of feathery wings that were a pure shimmering white, and flew off into whence he came.


	6. Sneaking

_Okay door. Do me a favor and pleeeease don't creak..._  
Thankfully, it didn't.

The young man let out a sight of relief, stepping barefooted into the hallway from his room, clad in nothing but his sleep clothes. This was certainly going to be an interesting thing to do...  
Carefully, he tip-toed past the slightly open door to his Father's bedchamber, where snores could be heard, probably causing some earthquake over in America. Once that obstacle was passed, the rest of the journey was easy- he just had to slip down the stairs and into the kitchens, which wasn't too difficult. Once he had his prize in hand, he made it back to his room safely, closing the door.  
His little brother sat, cross legged, on his bed. "Joker! Did ye get the food?" Came the concerned whisper.  
With a triumphant smile, he produced the loves of Rosemary Garlic bread he had nicked from the kitchen pantry- guess old thieving habits came in handy after all.  
This became a reoccurring event, especially with little Dagger waking up hungry almost every other night. He never took more than what could be noticed here- a roll there, a slice there, and if he was lucky, a candy or two. And to this day, no one had figured out what he had did.


	7. Freak

_**FREAK.**_  
The word rang echoes through his ears, reverberating around his body.  
 _ **FREAK.**_  
The damage one little word from a past could do was nearly unthinkable.  
 _ **FREAK.**_  
In a low, threatening voice, he said, "What did you... just call span _**me**_?"  
The Ringleader wasn't one to become uncontrollably pissed off, normally for any reason at all, but this was different. This word brought back a near lifetime of memories- pain, struggle, beatings, being called that on a daily basis. He felt the rage from then on churning up inside him, making his jaw clench, his prosthetic ball up, and his eyes become threatening.  
"You're simply a freak, you idiot!" The man called out to him. Joker was getting dangerously closer to him now. "And you don't belong in **_our_** kind of society! You and your crazed friends!"  
... Did the poor man know what he was in for? Most likely not. Did he know that they were trained in the art of killing? No. But was his intention to span _**just**_ piss the clown off by insulting him and his loved ones?... Most likely yes.  
His next instinct was to then whip the sword from it's cane scabbard, grab onto the man and pin him against the wall, the cold metal blade against the other's throat.  
"Listen here, ye **bastard** ," the Ringleader's accent was now almost completely gone, his cheerful circus persona vanishing under the stare of the man's eyes. "You can insult me all you like, and that's fine. But once ye bring my **family** into this..." His normally cheery face twisted into a near maniacal smile— one that did not look right on his face at all, "Then yer gettin' **personal** , mate. I suggest ye leave us alone and not come back unless ya want your throat sliced in two." Joker's grip dropped. 'Ave I made myself clear?" There it was... his famous smile of Doom. "Now get lost, ye patronizing **bitch**."  
As the offender scampered away, Joker still couldn't help but hear the word echo in his mind. The only reason he hated it... was because it was the **truth** of what they all were.  
And the truth is always painful to hear, is it not?


	8. Turned Around (Canon Re-Write)

_"'Ave ye forgotten?"_ His stern gaze matched his firm grip on her shoulders as he stated the horrible truth. _**"We can no longer turn back."**_  
Beast gritted her teeth, fighting back tears. No, this isn't what she had imagined he would say. But this was Joker. She knew he wouldn't listen. His small smile appeared on his face, and then he did something she hadn't anticipated- he put his scarf around her neck, tying it tightly. The woolly fabric was warm and fluffy, and it smelled like him. Not that she wouldn't mind that at all.  
"Best be gettin' ta bed," he went on, finishing the knot. "Keepin' ta late hours; 'tis bad fer ye."  
She said nothing, ruby eyes only staring at him and that stupid smile that never seemed to leave his face.  
That's when he started walking away.  
"But-! Joker!"  
"Night!" And he was gone from her sights.  
When he was gone, she felt her eyes mist up. Of all the stupid ass gingers she had to fall in love with, it was the idiot who had protected and cared for her since their time on the streets. One of the few people who didn't tease, mock, or abuse her because of her leg.  
Her hands gripped the scarf closer, trying to inhale what he smelled like. Cinnamon and violets. It was comforting.  
 _ **"My, my- are those tears I spy?"**_

* * *

"Whoa, whoa, easy there Chad- 'tis me."  
Joker had just finished retying his horse, upon seeing a sight he didn't expect. It was way past lights out; why the hell was Black up and about?  
In other words, he had turned around briefly, to give his sister one last fleeting glance.  
His horse was skittish, rather, at the appearance of the Rookie. He hardly had time to wonder why, as he was currently hiding behind another rookie's tent during this moment (for he could hear them snoring).  
He couldn't make out their conversation, but Black was getting way too close to her for his liking. Way too close, _period_.  
Joker, uncivilized as though most people assumed he was (which was only half true) would never touch a woman the way he saw Black touching Beast now. Quite frankly, it was disgusting, especially since he had seen Beast swing a punch at the raven haired man and miss, only to be caught up in his arms. What was he whispering that made her motionless? Snap out of it, Beast!  
When he saw the obvious wasn't going to happen, he stormed out. "OI! BLACK! Leggo 'f 'er!"  
Beast's eyes widened in shock at this point in time; he'd actually come back? Sebastian, however, was more angry than surprised. With that damn reaper making him ditch Plan A, it was now apparent that the now rather pissed Ringmaster was ruining Plan B.  
Joker was upon them now, snatching a wrist of the slightly taller man and flinging it out to the side. "What th' 'ell 're ye doin', Black!? I though' ye 'ad more dignity than tha'!"  
Beast was frozen for a moment, before Joker's flesh and bone arm slid over her shoulders, pinning her close to him.  
"I- I just thought-" Damn, now he would have to lie. Easy enough, but the demon's brain was fumbling for one. Finally, it came out. "I thought she would need comfort after you so _rudely_ left her behind, Sir Joker."  
"By tryin' ta _rape_ her!? You saw she didn't wanna do it, Black!" His mouth was turned upside down and his small brows furrowed, a strange gesture on his normally cheerful face. Even his one small fang looked quite menacing from this angle. "Look, I know ye 'ave talent. Ye an' Suit, an' maybe even Smile. But-" Joker's voice lowered and octave, glowering at the demon in disguise.  
" _Get th' Hell outta my circus. **NOW**."_  
Sebastian was taken aback by the Ringleader's sudden sentence, but it meant one thing, as he grabbed his things and left, overseen by Joker himself- he could make his way into London and do as the Young Master had asked.  
 _Wonderful._  
He could just pick up 'Smile' in the morning. Consider this Plan C.

* * *

Beast was in Joker's tent now, where she had been many times before, whether for family gatherings or serious discussions, but never quite so shaken like this. He'd wrapped a blanket on her and sat her on his bed. _And he was sitting right next to her._  
"Beast," he started, "'M really sorry fer no' steppin' in sooner."  
"No, no- it's fine. Father is more important, I guess." At the mention of the elderly man that controlled them, her gaze met his. "Father- Joker, you're going to be late! He's probably going to punish you for it!"  
The Ringmaster's classic smile became a sympathetic one, and he rubbed her head with his fake arm. "Wotever 'appens ta me ain't yer concern, Beast. I'll be fine. Remember, we've survived worse." The wink he gave her was more sad than joking, and she looked down.  
It was then she felt his nose bury itself in her hair.  
"I'll be back as soon as I can, 'kay?" Came his mumble, and another head rub from his real arm. "An' I want ye to stay in 'ere 'til morning. No buts about it."  
She was dazed slightly by what he had did, and just as he moved the tent flaps apart, she called out to him.  
"Joker, hang on a sec!"  
His head turned, eyes curious. "Yea? Wot is it?"  
"Um," her hand gripped the blanket tighter, out of nervousness. "Before you interrupted me. Right before you gave me your scarf," she took a deep inhale, preparing to say the words out loud. "I wanted to tell you one thing. I love you."  
His eyes widened, and after a pause, his cheerful smile returned, and a giggle escaped from him. "I know. I jus' didn't want ye gettin' hurt, 'tis all." After one final wink, he finished,  
"I love ye too, Beast. But, don't tell Dagger, 'kay? It'll break th' poor kid's heart."  
Upon seeing her smile and nod, the flaps shut, and off he went.


	9. Stranger

"Oi! Hello? Penny ta spare, please... anyone? —– Thank ye kindly!"  
And so rang out the cries of the ginger out on the streets of London. He was standing, flashing his best smile, and had even tried to clean himself up a little bit, though he didn't look that much different—– dirt was hard to scrub off when one was always dirty, after all.  
Another penny gained from a sympathetic passerby. Wonderful! Soon, he'd be able to bring the others back **some** kind of decent meal- perhaps maybe even a small sweet? He had hoped so. They hadn't had good food in weeks, and he quite missed the luxury of it.  
A noblewoman and her husband caught his eye. Between them was a small boy child, who looked about six years old. The child was staring at him in wonder, and Edmund gave a small wave with his one hand back at him. It was then the boy broke free from his mother and father's hand, running toward the other male.  
Large green eyes started up at him. "Woooooooooow! I've never seen anyone with one arm before!"  
Of **course** that was the first thing they child noticed.  
Edmund bit his lip, ready for the relentless teasing, when he felt the boy take his left palm and press something into it- a shiny gold coin.  
The ginger stared, open mouthed at it, then brought his violet gaze back to the boy. "This—– this is fer me?"  
He beamed. "Yep! Momma said I could give it to you! She said she had a friend like that once- one that was missing his left hand! And do y'know what he became later in life, after being picked on and ridiculed?"  
The street rat shook his head as the boy continued, "He became a scholar over in America! He got himself a prosthetic and everything, and according to Momma he's the top one there at where he teaches!" A gap toothed smile formed on the small child's face. "So she wanted me to give this to you, so you could have a means to end up like him!"  
Edmund's dumbfounded gaze looked up from the child to his Mother, who was standing a bit away, looking at him and smiling. The ginger boy smiled back, feeling tears well up behind his eyes.  
They were going to have a **feast** tonight.  
As the boy and his family ran off, Edmund took off to the nearest bakery to spend his money and gold coin. Who thought one stranger could bestow an act of kindness on someone as low as him?


	10. Trust

A young circus, staring fresh from the bottom. Funds added, everything supported by their Father's money, and the money a few people had donated by their advertising. Edmund, now called Joker, was ecstatic beyond belief as he watched some of the new people—– who had showed up on their own, no less!—– train around the tent. Along with the first newcomers were his own family- Peter and Wendy were on the trapeze, Mally, now called Beast, was taming a tiger, and Dorothy, now Doll, was up on the tightrope, lifeline attached. She saw him watching, and gave him a big smile, a wave, and a thumbs up to let him know she was ok. Joker waved his newly attached prosthetic back at her, and she kept walking.  
His eyes wandered from Doll to Beast. Much like how Doll was trusting the lifeline on her tightrope, Beast was trusting her instincts, staring down the tiger and whipping at it when needed. After making the animal sit, her red eyed gaze caught his, and she blushed. That only made him wink, in which she turned her head away from him.  
Violet eyes trailed up to the smaller members of the circus on the trapeze, almost completely in sync. The trapeze astounded Joker, truly. To trust in one another was like being on a trapeze. Or in other situations, attached to a tightrope with a lifeline on your waist. Or maybe another situation where you have to trust yourself and stare staring down a 'tiger' of your own imagination.  
Trust was the very principle in which circuses were bound on. It was the foundation for every performer; to work together and trust one another.  
It brought a true smile to Joker's face—– one that lasted throughout the rest of the day.


	11. What Made You This Way?

"What made you this way?"  
The question is quick, and the horror in the voice of the one who asked it is apparent, for it is the voice of himself, aged younger, in the back of his mind.  
The buildup of many a thing, he answered himself. Father, for example. Their endless hunt for the Phantomhive child. His entire existence had been one brought up on naught but pain and misery, and he was forced to hide it, thus like a mask was permanently sealed on his face.  
A naive child, he had been, when Father asked them to form Noah's Ark. A naive young adult, who thought the circus was a way of income... how shocked he was when he found out it's darker purpose. The horror stricken expression of his family when he told them. Father's threats if they didn't comply. Everything had spiraled in a downhill trap, and he and his loved ones were at the bottom of it. Who was this man that was obsessed with beauty, replacing the caring gentleman who had raised them? What had happened to make him this way?  
Perhaps it had rubbed off on Joker as well.


	12. Tired

Being onstage almost the entire night was more tiring than usual. Normally, Joker could always have some spare energy floating around, spreading onto the crew and cast, making people smile— but alas, he felt uncharacteristically tired.

After a pardon to Dagger and Doll about not attending the post-show snack (regardless of the fact that there was leftover potatoes, and those sounded rather good right about now), he moved into his tent, stripped off his coat and vest, untied his bow, kicked off his shoes, and flopped facefirst into his waiting pillow. A groan emanated from him, and he turned his face sideways towards the wall of the tent. Several skeletal arms glinted back at him in the dim lamplight, the off-white glow making his tent seem more Halloween-esque than comical.

Joker stared at the arms for a bit, then rolled himself over. He couldn't bear to look at them for any longer than what was worth.

Each one had worn thin in some joint or another from too many performances, too many kidnappings, too many sins to count. Bringing the current prosthetic closer to his face, he flexed the fingers—– in, out, in out. This one had already done considerable damage to others and itself, what more lie in store for it?

These thoughts plagued him as he drifted off.


End file.
